


apocalypse

by driver



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: Augmented Reality, Drug Use, Drugs, Gen, Suicide, this was super upsetting to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7357558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driver/pseuds/driver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>too much of anything can hurt you ☎️</p>
            </blockquote>





	apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> this is essentially just my take on apocalypse; it's a little short and i'm sorry for that but i hope you like it!  
> remember, drugs are bad

His knees buckled involuntarily.

And then he walked.

He walked aimlessly, resting mentally at a point that was far, _far_ below the bottom line. 

Son's walk was thoroughly crooked, bent out of shape and he jut from side to side in no general direction; his head felt too cloudy to even attempt to conceptualize one. He felt around blindly, looking for someone, something, anything to hold onto and keep him concreted to reality.

It was harder to breathe than it was to walk.

The air smelled stale. It smelled like acid rain and humid air being smashed against the pavement. It smelled like grease and spent oil. Everything smelled like hot blood.

Throbbing, pounding music. The kind that makes your chest rattle. Deep bass, and earsplittingly loud. It was impossible to hear a single voice, let alone his own- as if anyone could talk over the intensity of the drugs. Everything seemed to be amped. Colors blurred together, shapes blurred together, and all the overhead lights felt like they were mini-suns; burning into his eyes and clothes and setting the room and the minds of everyone in it on fire.

Looking around was horrifying. Strange, disfigured forms surrounded him- and though he felt as if he was running from them at 130 kilometers per hour, he hadn't moved an inch. The colors and forms were brighter than an atomic blast, attacking and clinging onto him, biting into his skin and shredding his senses apart and overwhelming every single part of his body.

The high hadn't even needed three minutes to reach the force it was at. He didn't overdose; but the potency of the pills was more than anyone, not even he, could truly handle. Things were so, so different five minutes prior.

Son's head didn't start to swim right away; rather, it took a brief moment of eager anticipation for them to kick in. It felt light and standard with the usual effects; his limbs felt heavier first, then his eyelids, until it became finally too much effort to stay awake and he drifted into a short, thirty seconds seconds of sleep where he had no dream and heard nothing but a deep, guttural, buzzing silence. And when he woke, the pills had taken their full effect. It all was over before it started.

He rolled through the long corridors in a blind sprint, guns blazing. Northern lights rattled throughout his mind as he found himself warping through walls, floors, and furniture. No matter where he looked, he saw stars.

It made his head spin and he was terrified in every possible way, but it was beautiful. It was beautiful, and it was too much. Good God, it was too much, and he knew it was too much, but his body couldn't fight it off, and there was nothing he could do but go through the motions and accept it. He could hear the blood pounding in his head. He could feel his blood flowing through his veins. He could feel his lungs expanding and contracting with each labored breath he took. He could feel the capsules in his body releasing the drugs the minute every last individual one of them did.

He could feel the world.

But the one thing he couldn't feel was his body hitting the pavement.


End file.
